Beyond Words
by Faux Promises
Summary: 100 word prompt challenge, various themes and length. Spy/ScoutMa
1. 1-20

**A/N: **Doing a 100 word prompt challenge, derived using a random word generator. These will be posted in sets of 20 at a time.

x x x

**01\. Defamatory**

His anger peaked as he poured over the collection of photographs, carefully snapped during a moment of passion. Derisive comments about himself could be tolerated. As for comments about her, he was not so certain he could keep his temper in check.

**02\. Tick-Tack-Toe**

The woman from Boston drew a clean line through the three X's, her nose wrinkling slightly in victory. She _always _seemed to beat him when it came to trivial games such as these. He hoped inwardly that their dinner would arrive soon as she drew up another board.

**03\. Ability**

"Bullshit," she replied casually, and he couldn't quite bring himself to continue his sentence. She knew every time, every _single _time, when he was lying.

**04\. Language**

It wasn't often that he returned to speaking his own language at length—it had been years since he lived among those who spoke it. But the little moments, when she took his hand, when her skin was bare against his...that was when he seemed to find himself once again returning to it.

**05\. Inadvisable**

"You better visit me this week—I ain't kidding," she scolded into the receiver. "Wear the mask for all I care. I just wanna see ya."

It was a terrible idea and they both knew it, but the wheels were already set in motion.

**06\. Scoundrel**

Arm tangled with his, her body leaned against him slightly as they walked the foggy morning shore together. It was a much needed vacation, after an extended period away from home.

As a younger man in her company, he had already known she would be exclusive to him, that he had found his match when he hadn't even been looking. Twenty years of traveling the world later, however, his pride had to concede that she would always the only woman whose loving touch he could permit.

Some casanova he'd turned out to be. But then again, perhaps the greater feat was to create a convincing illusion rather than to live it.

**07\. High-Rise**

From a suite far up over the city, he gazed down at the far-reaching expanse of lights and buildings below. He hadn't been sure what he would bring her back from this little excursion, but now he found himself reaching into his suitcase for his camera. While he could not bring her back this view, he certainly could capture the moment in time.

**08\. Precipitation**

The young Frenchman opened the umbrella over her head as they emerged into the rainy Boston weather. He still couldn't quite believe it when she reached up to place a quick kiss on his cheek, a muttered thanks for dinner accompanying it.

**09\. Headway**

"How long d'ya plan to keep it from them, honey?" she sighed into his chest. "I said until they were grown up, not until they were old men."

But he could only shake his head. He had made no progress whatsoever in telling his sons the truth, and somehow that seemed more of a crime than abandoning them altogether.

**10\. Squander**

No one could doubt that he had expensive taste in cars. The red Ferrari stood out against the bright blue desert sky like a gleaming oasis, one of only two things in this godforsaken state that kept him sane.

But still, he promised himself, guilt rearing its ugly head once more. The next paycheck he would take her to Europe or something—somewhere she had always wanted to go.

**11\. Betroth**

She couldn't stop smiling the next day, fidgeting with the ring on her finger as though still in disbelief that it truly was there.

**12\. Abhorrent**

He could hear the younger man talking loudly from the adjacent battlements.

"I mean, how would _you _feel if it was _your _Ma with some guy like that?" the Scout huffed to his fire-loving teammate, whose nonexistent expression revealed very little as to his opinion. "I mean, he's got a billion other women on the planet to sleep with, and it just _has_ to be her?"

The man in the balaclava suppressed a sigh as he darted back into the field.

**13\. Unleash**

One hand slid smoothly up her thigh, brushing at her hip in a familiar fashion. She rested her face against his shoulder as she nodded off to sleep without a care in the world. The day would never come, he thought, when he could truly understand how she brought out this tenderness in him.

**14\. Thief**

"You're a thief, Rey. Birds fly, grass grows, and you gank everything that ain't nailed down." She said it plainly to him one day after having witnessed him steal the third wallet of the day.

His eyebrows came together at this, shrugging."But I've never stolen anything from you. Isn't that worth something?"

The girl from Boston just smiled slyly. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

**15\. Obfuscate**

"Mundy, you must _never _speak to anyone about the nature of our relationship," he told the Sniper with a flourish of his cigarette toward him. "You finding out at all was an accident. I can't have her in danger."

This last sentence was spoken more softly, almost more sincerely. Less about anger and more about the tiniest amount of fear.

"Guess I'll have to find another explanation for the black eye," the marksman replied sarcastically, chuckling. He doubted anyone would believe the truth of it anyhow.

**16\. Penitence**

His face had found its way into her neck. The heat of the summer was thick, but his full attention was invested in his lips on her pulse even as a trickle of sweat ran from his temple.

It hurt her to admit these days that a certain apologetic sadness settled itself in the moments he spent lavishing attention upon her. He had always had his reasons to feel some guilt about their union, but more so than ever he seemed to think himself the real monster that he was compelled to protect her from.

**17\. Suppose**

"I mean, wouldn't you have been happier stayin' single for all this time?"

He looked up from his glass of champagne, giving her an expression that must have been nothing short of deadpan. How many guns did he need emblazoned with her image to get it through her head?

**18\. Immoral**

The trail of bodies he left in his wake meant nothing to him, not as long as he could go home to her in the end. Whatever it took to return to her arms, to keep their family safe and off the street—he would sell his soul to the devil.

**19\. Coup**

He didn't have the same control over himself that he had formerly known.

When she looked over at him, he felt weak in the stomach. When she took his hand, his knees were fit to give out.

And when she shared a kiss with him that night, he wanted nothing more than to be with her always.

**20\. Drug**

Careful fingers slid the strap from her shoulder. He could feel her breathing quicken as he trailed kisses along her throat, creeping down to the nape of her neck. Her own hands splayed across his chest as she leaned into his embrace.

He couldn't even bring himself to worry about the next day when he was with her in the silent darkness. Warm lips pressed full against his, and the world fell away around him.


	2. 21-40

**21\. Catnap**

Spread out on her back across his lap, the Spy knew very well she had not truly fallen asleep. He rolled his eyes before returning to his newspaper.

**22\. Jeweled**

The ring he had proposed to her with sat gingerly in the palm of her hand. The young woman reclined back on her bed as she examined it more closely, fascinated by the way the light from the lamp caught the facets.

She wasn't sure if the beauty of the diamond or how it had come into her possession was more surprising.

**23\. Sense**

From the moment the idea settled into his head, he had known it would mean nothing but trouble.

Now here she was hastily removing his clothing, a swear or two in that familiar accent escaping her here and there as they fumbled in eagerness. He slid one finger mischievously under the clasp at her back and watched as her face flushed with anticipation.

He pushed that nagging sensation of being watched to the back of his mind as she pushed him against the sheets.

**24\. Jest**

Even at his age, she could still get a rise out of him with a well-placed joke at his expense. The Frenchman was thankful that the balaclava now hid his face, which had the slightest bit of color in it from her teasing.

**25\. Authentication**

The single knock at the door signaled he was home for the night. Though the boys were fast asleep, she couldn't help feeling anxious that someday their clandestine relationship might someday come to light.

**26\. Untie**

Meticulously manicured nails worked his tie from his neck, something akin to a purr in his chest as she leaned in for a kiss.

**27\. Tourist**

"I don't know if I like this so much," she complained, toying with her hair in discomfort. "It's sorta weird havin' you translatin' for me and all."

The Spy glared at her as he set down the menu, a few dark wisps of hair hanging in her face. He wished she didn't look so very nice tonight, as it completely wrecked his ability to get irritated with her occasional pouting.

**28\. Willpower**

He supposed Sniper did not understand, even now that he knew his secret. For a man like himself it likely seemed odd to be married, much less to be a faithful mate. Perhaps even laughable when you thought about it properly.

But for him marriage was not a matter of willpower or constricting commitment. Friend or not, his pride wasn't about to let him admit his affections to a colleague.

**29\. Fail**

The intimate photos did not lie. Years spent being careful about his comings and goings, and at last they were caught.

**30\. Past**

"I'm sorry—I'm talkin' all about my life and I don't even know where you're from." She rested her head on her hands. "I mean, I can guess, but I ain't met too many people like you around here."

The Frenchman's eyes darted to the side, unnerved by her sudden question. He was loathe to talk about his country of origin, currently still overrun with foreign enemy and ally alike. Something about the softness of her expression, however, warmed him up to the notion of sharing more of himself with her.

**31\. Expect**

She had spent the better part of twenty years waiting for a day when he would return—not just for a day, or a week, but for good.

**32\. Timeless**

The music reached its peak as he dipped her low, two bodies moving smoothly together in time to the sound. Her smile only grew when his lips grazed her neck as the song drew to a close.

Truthfully, he had not been fond of dancing when she first had asked him, years back, abashed and wholly uninterested in something so frivolous. But his career had found him at quite a few parties with dancing, and lacking his partner, he always took the opportunity to watch and learn.

Though he still wasn't fond of it himself, he did enjoy testing out what he had observed with her, much to her eager delight. At first it would be unpracticed and out of sync, full of her giggling and a bit of snorting laughter on his end, but that was always half of the fun.

**33\. Luck**

How exactly he managed to avoid death for as long as he had, neither of them could even guess. She didn't imagine her prayers alone had ever been enough.

**34\. Forgot**

She whispered it in fondness, hissed it in frustration, sometimes outright laughed it. His name, a name he would have hardly recognized as his own if not for her presence in his life.

And when she spoke it in passion, that needful tone she knew how to execute perfectly, he was at her mercy.

**35\. Fair**

The first time she had thieved his cigarettes from his coat, _while he was wearing it _no less, he knew with perfect clarity that she could beat him at his own game.

**36\. Patience**

It struck her as interesting, that he was proposing to her, and had not yet even once told her that he loved her. She had waited to hear it, tenaciously longing for confirmation that hid beneath his layers of deception. Layers she supposed protected his ego that happened to be much more tender than he would ever admit.

She knew it to be true. The words were right there in plain sight, so utterly obvious in his eyes—the way he looked at her. The way he spoke, the way he touched her. Still just beyond her reach.

But she would wait.

**37\. Alike**

The Frenchman found it terribly troubling sometimes, how much of himself he saw in their youngest son. He was egotistical, quick to brag to both enemy and teammate, and had a soft spot for his mother that they both shared above all else.

Maybe it was for this reason that he had little mercy for the Scout on the battlefield.

**38\. Guidance**

Sometimes, when he found himself trapped deep behind enemy lines, his eyes would trace over that etching of her that decorated his trusty revolver. Particularly when his teammates were of little support to him, he found this proxy of her reassurance to be exactly what he needed to push onward.

**39\. Linen**

Her skin had a clean and subtle scent to it, not of perfume or smoke, but one that fit her perfectly.

He adored it.

**40\. Gawk**

One neatly arched eyebrow had raised in amusement. _"What, see somethin' ya like?"_


	3. 41-60

**41\. Enthrall**

A cigarette dangled from her lips as she stood dressing across from him. The Frenchman watched with some amusement as she tied her hair ribbon before even reaching for her dress. Her body fascinated him, even artistically speaking—slender legs and smooth hips. Blue eyes darted up her form, lingering for a moment as he admired the alluring shape and symmetry of her breasts.

The dark-haired woman glanced over at him as he lit his own cigarette, not oblivious to the enchantment he had briefly fallen under.

**42\. Sample**

She glared harshly at her husband for a moment as he dipped another finger into the bowl.

"Save some for me to _cook_, honey."

**43\. Mortality**

Not until the first time a bullet grazed his shoulder did he truly understand the situations he placed himself in. She only chuckled when next he saw her, collecting her in a grateful embrace when she reached up to kiss his cheek.

Next time, he always promised himself, he would be more careful.

**44\. Salve**

The Bostonian woman did not seem as surprised when he returned that evening with an obvious knife wound across his back—another fight. It did not run as deep as it could have, a minor laceration, but he flinched nonetheless as she gently cleaned and dressed his injury.

Fortunately for him, blood did not bother her in the least. However, the sight of _his_ blood, and in so great a volume, left her pale. He caught a glimpse of this in the mirror beside them and swore to himself.

**45\. Stealthy**

She was an incredibly light sleeper, something the Spy was reminded of every time he came home late from work. No matter how quietly he slid in beside her she would always stir awake, and he had begun to suspect that she would not allow herself a peaceful rest until his safe return.

**46\. Snowfall**

If there was one thing he could not stand about Boston, it absolutely had to be the winter. He dusted the powder from his coat as he entered their home and headed to the kitchen to find a warm pot of coffee already waiting for him.

The note on the table read simply "_Shopping – be home soon." _

He cracked a smile as he filled a mug. There was nowhere else on the planet that he would rather spend these cold months.

**47\. Laugh**

His laugh died off with a snort, and before he had the chance to be properly embarrassed, she had already slipped her arms around his neck.

**48\. Agency**

He had always had the option to go straight, this much he knew. Already a few no-questions-asked missions with the US government had been sent his way over the years, which perhaps was a testament to his reputation among his contemporaries.

Still too devious to settle for one side of the law, he kept the option on the back burner for now.

**49\. Ransom**

At times he regretted his path in life, one where he must always keep his silence about having a wife and family. He did not suppose he was the only one of his kind to have such an arrangement, though certainly one of very few to do right by them.

Proud and grateful as he was, he could not ever let this information slip, let alone fall into the wrong hands.

**50\. Splay**

Slowly she separated her long fingers out against his chest before pushing him with a bit more force against the back of the couch. Brown eyes briefly fell closed as his own hand found its way to her hip, some sly assistance in settling her comfortably in his lap.

**51\. Remedy**

The clock read a quarter past ten o'clock as the Spy sat gingerly at the kitchen table, trying and failing to hide his displeasure at the chamomile tea in his cup that replaced his usual Scotch.

"I'd very much prefer if you at least _told _me about these sorts of changes first," he muttered from behind his hand, where he had taken to resting his head.

But she only smiled in reply.

**52\. Beast**

She had a persistent habit of reminding him that he was a good man, and it was only out of love that he no longer allowed himself to correct her.

**53\. Stride**

Within a month's time of becoming acquainted he already finds himself slowing down as she catches up with him, her shorter stature inhibiting her speed. It gives him the perfect opportunity to steal a glance or two now and then, fascinated by the way the skirt of her dress whips and billows with the wind.

**54\. Motherhood**

He always knew she would be a loving mother, a theory confirmed as he watched her holding the bottle for their newborn son and smiling all the while. Feeling a bit left out, he still did not feel so confident that he could be a good father.

**55\. Defiant**

She still wore blue on the regular. It had been her favorite color for as long as he could remember. By day the color of his enemies, but so benign and warm when it was associated with her.

As his tongue darted along her lower lip, surrendering himself for all intents and purposes, she carefully worked at sliding him out of his signature red pinstriped coat.

**56\. Cage**

No matter how much he loves what he does, he knows it isn't enough for him. He's reminded of this every time he sees her watching him leave from the doorway, and this time, with their son in her arms.

**57\. Artifact**

"Wait, it does _what _now?"

The Spy placed the golden device back in his breast pocket, shaking his head curtly. It was probably better that he kept the truth behind this particular piece of equipment to himself.

**58\. Tall**

She had to stand up on her toes to kiss him, so he would lean down and meet her halfway. Sometimes an insistent tug at his tie or collar reminded him to do so, that she might have better access—that she might remove that infuriating red balaclava.

His gloved hand twitched, his instincts reminding him to remain hidden always. But then her delicate hand reaches for his as though she already knows, and he _refuses _to let old fears ruin this, this _one _thing that he treasures.

**59\. Argue**

They have their disagreements, naturally, as two people who can never be wrong often do. The true test of will, however, was to see who would apologize first.

So he would arrive home with flowers in hand and a sadness in his eyes that he struggles to hide. She's silent on the couch, perhaps reading, and his favorite dish waiting for him at the table. Once his face is pressed into the side of her neck, he knows he will sacrifice his pride every time.

**60\. Smile**

She has those cute little dimples, and he makes a point of finding any way to get a smile out of her. Even if it means occasionally exploiting her ticklish spots.


	4. 61-80

**61\. Hopeless**

Her flirting confused him, given that she seemed so unlike the sort of girl who put any kind of stock in romance. Much like himself, actually, and he found that entirely irksome. Tomboyish and outspoken as she was, he expected she thought something like love to be nothing but a waste of time.

As such, a chance for her affection seemed like a long shot, but he refused to relinquish the possibility.

**62\. Gunpoint**

By the time he was twenty-five years old, the Spy had already had guns as well as all other manner of weapons pointed at him. He had seen his own blood seep through his clothing countless times—ruining countless suits, no less.

The greater task, however, was in making sure she never had to live through the ridiculous ordeals he put himself through, all in the name of some misplaced pride and sense of adventure.

**63\. Equilibrium**

He wanted more than anything to get this right—this first time for them, heated and eager, their senses caught up in the spontaneous passion they had thrown themselves unwittingly into. Her reactions led his own movements, and even in his inexperience he had managed to find a pace and alignment that worked for them, eliciting an increasingly positive response that kept him encouraged.

Judging from her nails scrambling up his back, digging in the slightest bit, he supposed the initial discomfort she had shown was gradually receding as his lips moved to her shoulder, concentrating on an instinct to keep going, his unpracticed stamina slipping, until his vision swam with an intense high. He endured through his own dazed state, hoping she would be feeling the same, and then—

Her hum of pleasure against his neck brought the world back into balance, her body shuddering briefly. This time had no desire to withhold the words of fondness that left him as he ran his fingers through her hair, so fortunate to be in her arms—even if she would not understand his language, he did not think his meaning to be unclear.

**64\. Guise**

He had worn so many disguises in his life, redesigning and attuning himself to a role he wished to play on any occasion. It became customary for him to test them out on her when she didn't expect it, the perfect way to measure just how effective his transformation had been.

**65\. Debate**

It wasn't so bad, the Frenchman thought, allowing her to believe she was right about something even when she was not. Worse, however, was admitting when she _was _right, because she simply did not let him hear the end of it.

**66\. Scowl**

"C'mon honey, _smile_."

Her urging gleaned only the smallest of smiles from him as she snapped the photograph. She wanted to be able to recall that expression he always wore, that in-the-know wolfish smirk, no matter what the distance between them.

**67\. Shave **

The slight roughness to his face, grazing against the side of her neck, sent a quiver through her body. She felt his body relaxing in her arms as she pressed a comforting kiss just below his ear, and for all his masculine posturing about protecting her, she suspected that he truly did believe that _she _was the one—the only one—with the power to protect him in kind.

**68\. Pain **

The Frenchman had known every sort of injury in his time, from bullet wounds to knife lacerations, but they did not scar him anywhere near as deep as the fear that one day she might leave him.

**69\. Vanish**

His hand ghosted over the button at his wrist, shrouding himself in invisibility as he rounded the corner. The act of disappearing had always seemed so entirely natural to him that the realization of this feat briefly made him feel giddy with power. He wished dearly that he could show her his new toy, but given the limitations of his rights to use it, he would have to settle for telling her instead.

**70\. Student**

She had an entire drawer full of schoolwork and art made by the boys, each one carefully stored after they had served their time on the fridge or wall. Sometimes it would be late at night when he returned home from his work, tiredness and anxiety written on his face, but he never refused her offer when she wanted to show him something new that one of his sons had brought home.

It wasn't what she intended, but there were days when she sensed a certain feeling of despair in his manner, as though the reminder of all that he was missing nearly overtook the joy.

**71\. Spaniel**

The family dog had been a gift from him, unbeknownst to the boys. He had figured boys needed a dog, though not perhaps as much as they needed a father. The Spy put the thought out of his mind as he presented the floppy-eared dog to his wife, explaining vehemently that this one was to be _their _responsibility, not hers. His wife smiled with amusement as the puppy wriggled around excitedly in his hold, her small paws kicking at the air.

At least it would give them something to do besides drive their mother crazy. Judging from her reaction, however, he supposed she might enjoy having an animal around as much as the kids would.

**72\. Brat**

It had become commonplace nowadays for the younger man to react viciously at the sight of the Spy, sometimes going as far as to foolishly make a mad dash straight for him in defiance of a much better strategic option.

The Frenchman could not entirely be faulting of him for it, being that from the boy's perspective he was simply protecting his mother. For someone young like he was, it was a fairly natural reaction to act impulsively. That was his style of fighting, after all, to come through with force and worry about consequences later.

But that cocky attitude on the few occasions that the Scout _did _win made him wonder how he could've rubbed off on the boy so much without raising him.

**73\. Narcissist**

The Spy had a certain devious habit of teasing her at times. It had become customary for him to feign attraction to a mysterious, unnamed woman, extolling her characteristics at length, only to reveal with a fit of snorting laughter that it had been she that he was describing all along—and how could she have not figured that out herself?

Once she caught on to it, however, she secretly looked forward to what praise he would come up with next, knowing full well from the almost dreamy look in his eyes that he meant every word of it.

**74\. Classified**

He knew that he _technically _shouldn't tell her too much about what he did, lest he either worry her or burden her with information that she didn't need to know. But she was his confidante, after all, and who else could he share his most dangerous secrets with?

She always was better than him at keeping secrets, after all.

**75\. Imaginary**

Every so often he wondered what their life would have been like if he had been a different man. Worked an honest job nine to five, spending the weekends out on the town with her, always back in time to tuck the boys into bed.

But then reality would come crashing back down, and the gun was still in his hands, the dark room silent. He hid it carefully before laying his head back against the pillow with a sigh. The space beside him in the bed was empty, seemed to always be empty these days, and he turned away.

**76\. Manipulation**

The Spy had picked up very quickly on how to use others for his own purposes, even when it often meant biting back his own sharp tongue to instead give some false compliment or smile. Lying did not bother him, because he held the firm belief that words were only as true as the person hearing them wanted them to be.

He hadn't been in the business of manipulation when he first got to know her, though he desperately wanted to believe he was. His ego could breathe easier at the thought that she was merely his partner out of necessity and opportunity, rather than the alternative explanation, the one that caused his throat to tighten when she would scrutinize him in some way.

It was not until he found himself kissing her that he realized she had been leading him into it all along, waiting to give him the opportunity. Maybe she had not entirely noticed she was doing it, but after all, his pride was far more fragile than hers. And when he at last found his courage, his fingers brushing at her neck, drawing closer to her than he ever had dared before—she was leaning in too, and he could hardly believe it when they met halfway in a kiss, that petty ego of his all but forgotten.

**77\. Pale**

The amused expression on her face baffled him, only until he caught sight of his own exposed countenance in the mirror. Light-colored patches of skin stood out starkly again tanned areas, around his eyes, nose, and grimly set mouth, everywhere that the balaclava normally concealed. The desert sun had left him with a bizarre mask burned into his flesh for as long as he would continue to wear it.

**78\. Shame**

For many years the Frenchman had considered what he would one day say to his boys when he finally could see them face to face—grown men, no longer boys. He had constructed all of these explanations and even apologies in his mind, the conviction he had once had about his choices all but withering when he pictured their expressions full of accusation.

It seemed fitting, then, that he should be watching one of them charging toward him with nothing but hatred in his stance. Something cold and dead inside of him stirred as he leveled his revolver straight between the BLU's eyes. In the end, he could blame no one but himself.

**79\. Penniless**

He had spent a significant portion of his savings on the engagement ring, a modest diamond that did little to enunciate his true sense of devotion. The jeweler he had bought it from seemed to regard him with some level of suspicion as he counted out the money, as though the mannerisms of a criminal were so utterly evident in the young man. Perhaps just as perplexing that such a man would be buying a ring, but as with everything in his delinquent life, he would keep it a secret.

**80\. Briefcase**

She could hardly believe, when he recounted the story to her, that she had somehow become a topic of interest among the two factions. And all over some dispute about some mostly-useless intelligence, something the Spy emphasized that the BLU team had in very short supply.

This comment resulted in a joking whack on his head with the damn folder full of photographs, with a sharp reminder that he would _not _be insulting her son under this roof.


	5. 81-100

**81\. Carnal**

In the past the Spy had always been a patient man, patient in all things, a necessity for his profession as well as a personal trait native to his character. But after weeks on end away from her, he found, patience became the last thing on his mind as she pressed her lips into his. He made it his mission to force himself into a calmer state, take things gradually lest it all be over in a matter of seconds—gently removing each article of clothing slowly, even the petty things like the ribbon in her hair.

The haste with which she was undressing him in kind soon made it clear that he was not the only one aching for some alone time together.

**82\. Ambiguity**

Her emotions weren't always so easy to read, despite the fact that she swore he was the more mysterious one between the two of them. The Boston native was astonishingly good at faking a smile or a frown depending on what would benefit her at the moment.

It was genuine anger toward him that she happened to never, ever fake. He considered this a blessing, given the distress it caused him to feel her wrath, though he would not in a million years admit this openly.

**83\. Arrival**

By the time her fifth son was born, she had firmly decided that this would be her last child. As it turned out, even with help, kids were a _lot _of work.

**84\. Swear**

The Spy had come to find out that she had quite a mouth on her when the feeling struck her. He wasn't sure where she picked that habit up, but in time he too would catch himself swearing under his breath at a miscalculation or lost quarry.

**85\. Smirk**

That was the only expression he seemed capable of at the time she had met him; an irreverent, immovable smirk. She had hated it at first, positive that it was his way of mocking her, belittling her not only as an American but as a woman as well. His gaze on her made her flinch and squirm with anxiety over what he must have thought of her.

In so many words, though, he would refute her assumptions on the matter. More and more she was learning that it was _her _opinion that he feared, the abashed feeling in her heart causing her some pain when he would indirectly hint that he thought she was charming and beautiful. Out of his league, even.

How, exactly, could someone as clever as he was be so damn blind?

**86\. Dilemma**

A secret kept too long ultimately became toxic, as both of them had grown to find out. There was never an opportune time—and perhaps never would be—to explain the bizarre arrangements they had made to maintain their unconventional union.

The Spy just hoped he would not someday be making his confession at the point of her angry son's gun.

**87\. Subservient**

Their marriage was a far cry from what some considered traditional. She had fallen for him hard _because _of that particular trait, that he had long viewed her as his partner and friend rather than an inferior. In many ways he even seemed to revere her above himself, and this could bring the color out in her face depending on how he decided to display these feelings.

Raising a family did require sacrifices from both sides, but she found it that much easier to bear knowing he respected her for all that she did. His hand tenderly running down her back as she fell asleep reminded her of it every time.

**88\. His**

He was hers and she was his. The knowledge comforted him immensely as he embarked on yet another harrowing journey, just one simple statement that he could forever be sure was true.

**89\. Unlearned**

Silence seemed to be the only response he could form as he stared at the infant in the crib below. His wife had already retired to bed, exhausted and somehow utterly confident in his ability to care for the child during her repose. He felt so terribly anxious about this endeavor, what he would do if the child woke before she did and he was forced to handle matters without her instruction.

He wished he had not been the youngest of his family. Kathryn had been the secondborn, with both an older sister and younger brothers to learn from. He also wished he had asked his own older brother more about the matter, after hearing story after story of how he had helped their mother care for him for months after her nearly fatal labor, feeding him on goat's milk and putting him down for bed each night.

Perhaps this type of thing was learned on the job, as his own set of skills had been. Unfortunately, his proud and capable attitude was sure to take a few major hits in the process.

**90\. Stereotype**

The Frenchman felt a heat in his face whenever she teased him about his heritage, but something else inside of him took a certain kind of pride in the fact that she declared all stereotypes to be simply untrue of him. Bravery wasn't always about who got in the most fights, or even who won the most fights. In his business the only reward for delusions of valor was a swift death, and she seemed to understand this quite well.

**91\. Scarves**

She had an endless number of them—hanging from the coat rack, hooks in the closet, sometimes left carelessly draped over the back of the couch when she was in a hurry. Dozens of different colors and patterns and fabrics. Winter in Boston lasted long enough that they always saw good use by the end of the season, and his favorite trick to play on her had become gently grabbing hold of the scarf's trailing end as she passed him.

Then one evening she wanted to share a scarf with him as they walked the park at dusk, loosely wrapping it so that they were shoulder to shoulder. That was when he found a whole new reason to love the sight of them on her.

**92\. Newlywed**

Sometimes the feeling of waking up with her next to him still seemed surprising. An honor, really, considering he had no money or fame to speak of that would make him worthy of a smart and beautiful woman like her. Not yet anyway, but he had become increasingly determined to make his name, make enough money so that she would live comfortably always.

Of course, she would insist that she did not need to be taken care of, and he would content himself with agreeing about that. Making her happy, however, was not an effort he ever intended to cease.

**93\. Poker**

Though his poker face was far superior to hers, she always surpassed him when it came to blind luck. The masked man found this irking at times. She had no fear of living dangerously in this regard and leaving some things to chance, a mindset he wished for but often could not afford to assume in his line of business.

**94\. Remember**

There are some occasions where he almost wishes the younger man would recognize him, finally bringing this façade to an end without his intervention. The Spy knew there were vestiges of remembrance in the boy's mind, perhaps owed to the few photographs his mother owned, or perhaps some very early childhood memory had managed to survive, if only in the subconscious.

He had noticed the BLU mercenary scrutinizing him a few times when they had passed each other—not every encounter resulted in a skirmish, out of a mutual sense of self-preservation if nothing else. With so little of himself exposed by virtue of the balaclava, he could not help suspecting that his eyes might be giving him away.

**95\. Duality**

The Bostonian woman had long felt that she lived the more duplicitous life, between the two of them. From the beginning she maintained the lie that her husband worked some lofty and covert government job that kept him away often, later turning to a story that he had disappeared one day to never return. She struggled sometimes to reinforce this fabrication to her children, all the while sharing a bed by night with the man they had not rightly known since their earliest years.

And still she remained convinced that it was the best thing to do for everyone involved.

Her fingers gingerly ran through his hair as he drew her closer to him, a suppressed shiver through her body as affectionate lips made contact with her shoulder. His tender apologies hurt most of all.

**96\. Fatigue**

When possible, she had a habit of taking care of him when he arrived home exhausted—and sometimes nursing a haphazardly dressed injury as well. This night she listened carefully for any sign of her sons stirring as she treated him to a shave, which looked to be something he hadn't the time for in several days. His hand came up to touch her arm in wordless appreciation.

But he was not to be outdone, and she arrived home one night from a late run to the store only to find a warm bath already drawn for her—still warm, even—and a hot cup of tea waiting on the counter. The Frenchman was nowhere to be found, and to her frustration she caught herself missing him terribly once again.

**97\. Torn**

Being caught between her husband and her son had in no time become infuriating to her. It was an insult that her son would believe that she had been foolish enough to carelessly just sleep with some unknown man, taken in just like that as though she were easy prey for the picking.

Siding with either of them meant slighting the other. One of these days she was going to let the truth slip and put an end to this nonsense once and for all.

**98\. Dumbfound**

Her hand wrapped tightly around his, squeezing in affection. When he glanced down at her, clearly surprised, she only smiled back as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

They hadn't known each other very long. What was it about him that she could possibly find appealing? He had even made some efforts to brush her off, especially since she had been more of the aggressor between them. If for one moment he'd suspected she would genuinely be interested in someone like him, maybe little gestures like this wouldn't feel so utterly confusing.

**99\. Vibrant**

The color red looked quite sexy on him, in her opinion. Passion did define him rather well, after all. She preferred to see it as the representation of his vitality rather than the blood that went along with it.

**100\. Colleague**

Although the Sniper seemed to be the only one of his coworkers that he could trust his more personal secrets with, he had also found an unexpected kindred spirit in the Heavy. He was a quiet man, something the Spy could find no fault in, and on a few occasions they had shared an enjoyable conversation on politics, weapons, or even their teammates.

After the events of his romantic life had been exposed, the Frenchman felt some unspoken gratitude toward the fact that the Russian giant had no derisive comment on the situation as many of his fellow mercenaries had. He found himself appreciative of this sign of respect for a long time afterward.


	6. 101-120

**101\. Flora**

Without much to do around Teufort and the surrounding area, the Bostonian woman had taken up several hobbies around the house. One of them happened to be gardening, and her lover did not discover this until he returned home to find a lovely bouquet of spring blossoms on the dining table one evening.

"Kathryn?" His eyebrows knitted together as he spoke her name, taking his turn that night to prepare a meal. A favorite soup of hers, and he was surprised to already find a fridge stocked with several vegetables. "Where did you happen to find those flowers?"

The Spy knew that the florist in town didn't carry such a diverse variety. He had been there plenty of times for little tokens and presents, as he supposed she must know.

"Grew 'em right out back," she declared proudly, speaking well above the volume of the evening news. "Those tomatoes and stuff too. They came out kind of funny-shaped, though."

"Hm." He shook his head as he filled the pot with water. Leave it to her to bring life to this godforsaken wasteland.

**102\. Young**

He had changed some since they were younger. Not nearly so insecure and nervous anymore, and far wiser with time and experience. But the kiss he pressed to her temple when she put her arms around him had stayed ever the same, a faithful and tender reminder, and she would always remember the lovestruck young man he had been when she first met him.

**103\. Death**

While she didn't understand the situation very well, she felt endlessly grateful for his reassurances that this job did not carry the same risk that many of his previous contracts had. He was getting much too old to keep facing death on a daily basis like that.

**104\. Gravity**

His eyes were drawn to her every time they passed, typically in the hallway as she headed to her apartment. A few times he had caught her looking back, some color coming into his face when he realized she had noticed him. He couldn't quite grasp what it was about her that he felt inclined toward—perhaps the way she carried herself, or the soft curls of her hair.

Whatever it was, fighting the attraction had begun to feel entirely pointless. Now if only he had the nerve to speak to her.

**105\. Sand**

The Spy looked out past the perimeter of their battlefield for a brief moment, the landscape dotted only with mountains and dust. Why exactly he had been hired to fight for this land remained a mystery—true, one he did not particularly care about as long as the paychecks continued—but a mystery all the same. He wondered sometimes if he would have even been able to stand this miserable wasteland without the sanctity of his home and lover.

**106\. Poor**

Neither of them had grown up very well off financially. As a teenager he had worked at a factory for some time before the war, making small wages for long hours. She had taken odd jobs after school to pay for the things she needed. Her mother did not usually make quite enough to cover the home expenses, and most of the kids in the family contributed to make up the difference.

He had resolved to work twice as hard to make sure their own children did not go without their necessities. With the kids still very young, he knew he would have to be the sole provider at least until they were old enough for school.

Pressure became determination, and with her support, he slowly made his way in the world.

**107\. Inevitability**

The boy would find out. Now that the liaison between his mother and the enemy was known, it seemed only a matter of time.

Not _if_. Merely _when_.

**108\. Destiny**

When she finally had the opportunity to speak with him, she took it without question. Fate did not wait on the indecisive.

**109\. Ache**

Something about him made her feel strange—like a painful longing. She thought of this while they shared a quiet moment in the park, his head leaning against her shoulder, as dusk begin to fall.

Her hand came up to touch his cheek briefly, earning a soft glance up at her through steel-blue eyes. His glance softened even further as she touched her lips to his face in a chaste kiss.

Really, it confounded her that she desired this contact from him. She had never been a physically affectionate person before, anyway. Even her family had been fairly detached, with an occasional hug being the extent of affection they shared. With four kids and a widowed mother, she had grown up feeling content with being independent.

But that longing she felt only intensified as he closed his hand over hers, and she wished that they could stay this way just a little bit longer.

**110\. Whirl**

Dried blood washes from his wound as he stands under the spray of the shower, washing off and pooling around the drain in a hazy spiral. He is thankful that she sleeps. This time he is spared the silently terrified expression.

**111\. Chore**

The sight of her deadly lover pushing around a vacuum cleaner brings the slightest of smiles to her face. He catches her in the corner of his eye, smirking in kind as he breezes past her. Something about the fact that he did not consider himself above such tasks caused her the oddest sense of endearment toward him.

**112\. Encompass**

The warmth that his body radiated made her move closer to him, one arm slipping around his waist as she heard him chuckle softly. That fond sound she always seemed to elicit from him; bizarrely tender, considering the killer it belonged to. His presence beside her at night was something she missed terribly when he left her.

**113\. Sting**

A certain amount of pain comes with his absence in their children's lives, a slow pain that gets worse as they grow older, utterly unaware of him. At times he thinks that this pain might be visible to her when they discuss the matter—the only person to whom his emotions were always betrayed.

She squeezes his hand softly as he peeks in on the room full of sleeping boys.

**114\. Empty**

With the boys grown and the house quiet, she only wished they were together just a little bit more often.

**115\. Cologne**

Many years had gone by since he had last worn a scent. It was too compromising, as far as he was concerned, and just one more thing that could be used to identify him. His wife, however, sometimes wore a subtle perfume, usually something light and scented with flowers. He always had to be careful not to leave the house reeking of it after her embrace.

**116\. Voice**

When the boys had been young, the Frenchman had overheard her singing them to sleep through the thin walls of their home. Her speaking voice could be very harsh and loud at times, but her singing voice? He was absolutely in heaven at the sound of _that._

**117\. Infatuate**

As a schoolgirl, she had always been annoyed with her friends when they got wrapped up in some crush, swooning over a boy just for looking at them. She just wasn't one for crushes and pining. In fact, for as long as she could remember there just hadn't been a man who had caught her eye, much less one who she expected would find her headstrong and overtly outspoken attitude to be anything but off-putting.

What she found so intensely fascinating about this quiet stranger, then, was an absolute mystery to her. He turned to glance at her, and she found her gaze nervously slipping away from his.

He shook his head as he dutifully held the umbrella over the two of them. The Frenchman found his attraction to her equally troubling—his life of war and isolation had made him anything but soft and easily led. He had found girls irritating as a boy, and women vapid and uninteresting as a young man. Somewhere in his mind he had supposed there _must_be one that was his match, but he didn't know what she would look like, or where she would be. So he passed through the streets each day, scrutinizing and criticizing every face with the same detached indifference.

He had, after all, already resigned himself to the fact that his match was most certainly in the arms of a better man than himself. The reality that she was instead by his side..._that_frightened him more than anything else could.

**118\. Eight**

Listening to their team's Scout speak offhandedly about his family, the Spy felt a small amount of surprise at the prospect of having eight boys to care for. He could not help wondering how their mother had managed to have enough time for all of them—and judging from the attention-seeking attitude the young man had, he suspected that perhaps she did not.

**119\. Psycho**

Despite his apathetic appearances, he did not like to be thought of as a man without morals. While his job did frequently involve taking lives, never had he done so indiscriminately. It was a job, a means to an end—but not who he _was_.

**120\. Away**

Sometimes the mother caught herself waiting for the sound of him entering the house, even when she knew he would be gone for yet another day.


	7. 121-140

**121\. Window**

A light tapping at the window had stirred her awake, smoothing dark bangs out of her eyes as she moved to draw the curtains aside. Some animal or a tree branch, the woman guessed foggily, until blue eyes and a slightly abashed smile was revealed on the other side of the glass.

She chuckled as she lifted it open, admonishing him that he wasn't supposed to have been back for at least a week still. But he merely watched her speak with a sort of homesick awe, cutting off her half-hearted tirade with some placating phrase in French. The meaning was obvious even in a foreign tongue, and she smiled as he merely took her hand in his through the open window and touched it to his lips.

**121\. Wedding**

He wondered these days, sitting across the table from her as they indulged in what wine they could afford, what her thoughts were about their status as a couple. The engagement ring displayed on her finger was a perpetual reminder of the matter.

The decision had already been made that they would have no formal marriage ceremony, and that the only formality to be had was a marriage certificate from a vacuous government agency. His reputation—his lifestyle—posed a significant deterrent to any kind of fanfare, not to mention the fact that he had no place in a church.

So the question remained when they would start to use those special words—wife, husband, _married_. When they would give themselves to each other became a valid question as well, a thought which made his heart begin to race. And so one day when the Frenchman mentioned in passing that they had best wait until after their new home was arranged to undertake the expense of wedding bands, she smiled conspiratorially.

"Why don't we write up some vows?" she suggested, playful in tone. Perhaps to lighten the serious nature of the underlying discussion. "We'll exchange them, like a wedding, even if it's just the two of us."

He made a sound of indifference, embarrassed by the unexpected and clearly earnest proposal. But that night, all the same, he found himself up late into the morning hours—pouring over a sheet of paper and as he searched for those exact, perfect words of devotion that were just beyond his reach.

**122\. Insult**

"_Well, off to visit your mother!"_

The Spy could not quite reason out just _why_the teasing brought him so much amusement. In fact, a part of him knew it to be a cold-hearted bastard thing to do to his son. But he was caught between being a father and being an enemy, and he did not think the conflict between the two roles was something he was fit to reconcile.

**123\. Kitchen**

A cross expression had entered his face as he caught her sneaking a peek over his shoulder again. He had been preparing their anniversary dinner for nearly two hours now, and he had lost count of how many times she had tried to spy on his progress.

His wife bit her lip innocently. "Hey, just wanted to see if I could help."

He only rolled his eyes.

"You've used that excuse already. Running out?"

"You wish," she grinned back. "Seeya in five minutes!"

**124\. Fireplace**

His letter to her curled and blackened in the flames, a sigh escaping the nameless man who had written it mere moments ago. He didn't have the luxury that soldiers did to send messages home to his loved one, or even to give her the relief of knowing he was alive.

It made him wonder, then, why he felt so compelled to write them anyway. Whether it chalked up to therapy or torture, he had not yet decided.

**125\. Holiday**

As a mother, she did not know if she ought to be happy that the boys had gifts under the tree each year, or brokenhearted from the lack of their father beside her as their faces lit up.

**126\. Bonus**

The collection of jewelry in her armoire had benefited greatly from his latest employment. At first she had protested, unaccustomed to excessive spending on the two of them after so long worrying about their children.

But by now she had long since given up on that. Even if he always insisted on faking disinterest in her reaction as he watched her open each little trinket, she could sense how important it was to him that she love every one of them.

**127\. Varnish**

She changed the color of her nails often, but there was a certain shade of red that he adored most on her.

**128\. Machine**

It was sort of nice, the Spy thought, to finally be fighting alongside the boy—even if it _was_against robot clones that ran on money.

At least, that's what he had thought at first.

"Hey, check it out!" the Scout had shouted from across the battlefield, running up to the older man with a still-sparking robot head in hand. The unamused look on his comrade's face did nothing to dissuade him. "I'm thinkin' about attachin' it to my gun or somethin'. What d'you think?"

The Spy's expression remained unimpressed. They had very little time until the next wave of robots arrived.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say that is the most _idiotic_ idea I've ever heard," he replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

His opinion, however, had turned out to be most unpopular.

**129\. Coat**

An early spring storm had taken them by surprise as they left the theater, with her lovely dress inadequate protection from the weather. The rain felt as though it sunk right through his clothing and straight to the bone, but the sight of her wrapped warmly in his coat still gleaned a smile from him.

**130\. Limit**

There were occasions when he wished he could come home without any reservations or tentativeness, just stroll in through the door and join them at the dinner table. It was a fantasy, one that he knew very well would never come to be fulfilled, but when loneliness began to take its hold, that yearning would return and cause an odd feeling of incompleteness.

**131\. Cheat**

He had picked up the skill of counting cards, though he could not quite remember when that had been. It still made for a fanciful way to impress her those few nights they had spent together in Vegas.

"They're getting' suspicious, Rey," she had whispered harshly at him as they left the blackjack table. "I swear y'never even _heard_ of _quit while you're ahead._"

For a moment he wondered if the element of danger had lost its appeal to her—if their days of being underhanded partners might be over. But when his gaze met hers, he found to his surprise that she was smiling. Her hand touched his shoulder as she motioned him to the side, her voice dropping even lower.

"So, you gonna teach _me_ that stuff, right?"

**133\. Mirror**

He honestly could not tell if it was their differences or similarities were responsible for the compatibility of their relationship.

**134\. Sugar**

His lover had an interesting affinity for sweets, as he had discovered one day when he found his drawer had become the hiding place for an impressive reserve of chocolates.

**135\. Trap**

The young man had not fully known what he was getting himself into when he had begun to feel drawn to the dark-haired girl, especially considering he had already dismissed the possibility that they would even speak. This all changed significantly once their paths did cross, and with it had come the realization that he was now her willing captive.

**136\. Handkerchief**

It was a very plain gift, but one they both knew he could safely keep with him at all times.

**133\. News**

With as little involvement with his family's day to day life as he had, there was a certain enjoyment the spy got from hearing her long list of updates as they shared a quiet evening together—their boys safely away with friends or family, whatever it happened to be on that particular occasion. She spared him no detail; a lost tooth, an accomplishment at school. And eventually, the many fights they would end up in thanks to the increasingly rough nature of their neighborhood.

He had ceased trying to convince her to let him move them out of the area, into somewhere safer and better for the boys' upbringing. But she insisted that they stay close to where she had grown up, which happened to be where they had met as well. Sentimental nonsense, he had thought countless times with mounting irritation at her foolishness.

Still—he couldn't help but share her enthusiasm toward their prowess in the street. He knew better than most that the weak were quick to perish.

**137\. Bill**

The fact that he never allowed her to pay was irritating at first, because she could only interpret it as some way of him trying to make her indebted to him. This notion gradually dissipated, however, as she found out that he gave to her far past his means without accepting anything in return.

She was not sure how she felt about this, but her view of him as a conceited loner could no longer hold up.

**139\. Duty**

Success in the field was absolutely critical; he had too much riding on his survival to fail.


	8. 141-160

**141\. Key**

Turning the lock slowly, he released a sigh as he stepped into their home. It was one of the few places he could enter these days and be certain he was welcome.

**142\. Flush**

The woman allowed herself a coy smile as she noticed a small amount of color in the normally stoic foreigner's complexion. She would not have expected her casual teasing to have any effect on him, especially when it was typically met with a scoff or derisive rolling of the eyes.

When she closed her hand over his, expression just a bit more sincere, he finally had to cast his gaze away. She suspected he did not want her to see that redness increasing.

**143\. Best**

While the Spy considered himself fairly adept in the culinary arts, there was simply no arguing with the fact. Her cooking was _divine_.

**144\. Eerie**

Every so often she would catch herself—perhaps hearing him call her from the other room, or a trace of the favored scent he used to wear back then. Back before he made a strict habit of being undetectable.

But then the notion would fade as quickly as it had arrived, like a thief in the night. Impossible, when he was miles away. And yet her thoughts would stubbornly linger on the topic before finally drifting off to sleep.

**145\. Glitter**

It was a terribly gaudy dress, even for a special occasion. And if he had seen it first on a hanger, or draped over the bed, he supposed he might have cringed at the ritzy little thing.

Now that she had him pinned to the wall, however, the sensation of her curves and softness seeping into him...the Frenchman reserved his opinions on this particular fashion choice.

**146\. Hungry**

He would not deny for a moment that he coveted the time they spent in passion, with his comings and goings so frequent. The warmth of another body was something he would despair for, after a time, and finding that in her arms came to be a merciful release he desired over and over again.

His wife reflected similar sentiments, some of her usual coyness replaced with urgency when their time arrived. Her hand would pause at his shoulder, smiling and all too aware of their mutual gratitude for the moment.

**147\. Tongue**

They had only known each other a few weeks, but the dark-haired girl already found herself infuriated with his clever evasions. He had avoided some of her questions, occasionally opting to feign ignorance in the language. She had no doubts that he understood her quite well—she could read responses in his expressions and mannerism that he did not guard as well as he ought to, silent responses that told more than words would have in any case.

She vowed to watch her own tongue more carefully. That man would not win this battle of wills that easily.

**148\. Different**

He had spent a fair bit of time in school, both before and during the war. Teachers and professors would always call him sharp, though often with reservations about his irreverent character. The spy-to-be never quite found himself to be a social climber, owing less to a lack of ability to do so than a stubborn unwillingness to bow.

Frustrating, then, that he found himself wholly too proud to admit his affection toward the woman that now walked beside him.

**149\. Bogeyman**

The mother wished he were around to assuage their young sons' nighttime fears. She was well aware of the fact that there were few things that would not fear her lover.

**150\. Stun**

One sharp blow to the head and the Spy found himself thrown against the wall, mind reeling as he hazily drew his revolver. The Scout had already vanished by the time his vision stopped swimming, presumably off to his objective, but the older man could not help smirking as he touched the blood dripping from his lip. His mother had not been exaggerating about the fact that the boy was no trivial opponent.

**151\. Near**

While she did not particularly care for the sweltering isolation of the desert, the troubling thought of him alone in it still gave her cause to linger.

**152\. Stone**

Her lover's typically unaffected nature happened to be a trait she took great joy in meddling with, whether through affection or more devious means. The need to do so simply could not be helped—not when his smile meant so very much to her. With all of the time they spent apart, she knew that just the smallest crack in his mask of indifference would be enough.

**153\. Apple**

"Mine now," she snickered, taking a bite of the fruit she had relieved him of. "'What y'get for not bringin' me one, too."

The Frenchman rolled his eyes, sighing. What was his was _always_ hers as well.

**154\. Encounter**

They were supposed to just be enjoying a nice cup of coffee in a quiet cafe, but then he kept making those _eyes_at her, the look that made her want to close that distance that was so often between them, and—

His chuckling interrupted her flustered thoughts, her cheeks turning red. She wanted to reprimand him for making her feel self-conscious like that, and yet she could only bring herself to laugh as well.

**155\. Accessories**

Whenever he was away, he would miss the small details that made her presence known to him. A book at the nightstand, or a necklace, or hair ribbon. The Spy made a note to keep something of hers with him next time—something untraceable, something with meaning only to him,_something that he could fool himself with._

He was certain he could will her to be there beside him if he tried. Loneliness was but a state of mind.

**156\. Legend**

More often than ever, she had begun to wish that she could tell her sons the truth about their father. The silence that surrounded the topic felt more like a taboo than a charming mystery, and she had grown so weary of being its keeper.

**157\. Ink**

His fine handwriting had surprised her the first time he had written her a note, carefully tucked into the pocket of her coat. He had the way about him of someone with a fair bit of education, though she had yet to discuss the topic much with him, and she found that the neat cursive did fit him quite well.

The Bostonian woman's smile only grew as she read the words therein.

**158\. Heist**

Over the years they'd had many a grandiose plot hatched between them. Everything from a simple bank robbery to theft of the Hope Diamond, the formulation of a major scheme became a pastime the two took great pleasure in.

During years of raising the boys, the idea of such a thing coming to fruition had somewhat faded from her memory. But the conversation resurfaced one night in New Mexico, where he simply had to plant the idea again as the hours grew late. Conspiring with a sly grin, the woman began to consider that it might not be outside the realm of possibility after all.

**159\. Chameleon**

She always knew he had a special gift for disappearing against any backdrop, lost in a crowd or shadowed corner. What she did _not_expect, however, was that he would one day achieve _true_invisibility.

**160\. Unsure**

How long she did not know, but it took time and careful observation to learn that his eyes often said what his lips were unable to.


	9. 161-180

**161\. False**

When the Spy arrived home that Saturday evening, it was to find the young man passed out cold on the old loveseat, TV remote cradled lovingly to his chest. His mother explained with a wry grin that he had been repainting the fence for her, insistent that he did not believe for a second that his father was any kind of adequate handyman.

He had more than a few occasions with which to challenge that remark, but he only smiled. A lingering feeling of embarrassment in the back of his mind let him know that she had probably already told their son this.

**162\. Taken**

The matter of the ring had always troubled him deeply, more so once he had accrued enemies and taken progressively more dangerous assignments. Stubbornly, he made a point of either carefully concealing it or working it into an alias story—which, at times, _did_ prove quite useful. But perhaps it was selfish to cling to the item, the only sentimental piece he did allow himself to carry, for such a reason.

Still, the Spy believed firmly that it _was_ essential. It was a totem of sorts. Something to remind himself of the precious few constants in his life, one of perpetual change and adaptation.

Something very _important_.

**163\. Convincing**

She couldn't entirely tell just _when_it happened, but somewhere within the months they had come to know each other, the Frenchman had turned his efforts from persuading her that she was simply a bother—to silently pleading with her to never let him go. It did not require much pondering for her to conclude that both of these reactions were two faces of the same coin, one singular feeling that manifested in many ways for the evasive man.

**164\. Demonstration**

"Beautiful. Absolutely _beautiful_."

His lover smirked as she lowered the gun, a clean hole blown through the center of the target. She had always been a remarkably fast learner—nothing new there.

Something proud about her expression, though, made him consider the fact that he did not compliment her nearly enough, and nowhere close to the amount of admiration he did have for her.

**165\. No**

The box containing the ring felt heavy in his pocket as he waited for her in the park—as he had dozens of times now, but he had a very compelling reason to feel anxiety this time. Truthfully, he did not know what he would do if she refused his proposal.

He didn't know if the pitiful excuse for a heart in his chest could bear to be broken by one he had come to hold so dear. It was the strangest, most incredible mixture of frustration and despair.

And, above all else, pure _terror_.

**166.****Borrowing**

For quite a long time the Frenchman had wondered just what happened to that fine, _expensive_ bottle of wine he had so carefully stowed away for a special occasion. He felt genuinely surprised to find it one day just as craftily hidden away in the bedroom, only used in the tiniest measure, as though with great thought and care to when it was permitted.

A smile twitched on his lips, but just as quickly it became more sobered as he thought of just how often he was gone these days, and just how much of a handful the boys must be.

**167\. Pointless**

The Spy felt a certain amount of chagrin toward the fact that he now shared a team with his youngest. Even when you took away the fact that they were fighting hundreds of robots instead of just a handful of flesh-and-blood enemies, you still had the young man who was utterly unwilling to heed any constructive criticism until it was too late.

Case in point, he had only just finished trying to explain to the boy that he needed to stop running circles around the machines when _someone_ was trying to move among them with care. This was met with a scoff and a challenge, one that was soon countered when a Soldierbot quickly swiveled around to take aim at the darting Scout, narrowly missing his masked teammate with a volley of rockets.

The glare he received for this one could have melted glaciers. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Eheh…my bad?"

**168\. Imagined**

He daydreamed often of arriving home, in odd transitive places like waiting for a meal in some shabby dive or for a cab to show up. It would have been nice to return bearing gifts and a smile, as though his life were some charming suburban fantasy. There were times when it was difficult, most painfully so, to exit cloud cuckoo land and return to the world of haphazardly nursed wounds and days-long stakeouts of rundown old hideaways.

**169\. Improved**

Their first home was neither spacious nor luxurious, but they had already begun to take measures to improve it. She had improvised some rather chic curtains out of an antique cloth, and he had managed to repair the inherited or cheaply procured furniture that populated the few rooms. It wasn't the posh living that he knew she secretly dreamed of, but at least it had started to feel more like a home.

**170\. Collection**

His array of guns and knives had increased considerably in the time spent with Mann Co. She pointed this out with some amusement as he sat carefully cleaning yet another new toy, though she made sure to add that he knew which one was her favorite.

**171\. Title**

Nowadays, she was perhaps the only regular presence in his life that did not know him simply as _Spy_. She seemed to find it terribly funny to sometimes refer to him as such in passing, as a kind of playful ribbing—the slightly perplexed look it would elicit from him was priceless.

**172.****Path**

Though to the occasional protesting of his wife, the Spy had always very much enjoyed taking a walk in the late evenings. She scorned this practice particularly when he was abroad and in areas that could be dangerous, a claim he would blithely respond to with the simple fact that anyone or anything that gave him a problem would be in for an unpleasant surprise.

Still, seeing the slightly-concerned expression persisting, he would relent, assuring her that he knew quite well how to avoid trouble.

**173\. Air**

Without the tension of their circumstances, she supposed her lover and their son could get along rather well. Granted, her belief tended to be that all of their boys would have adored him—idolized him, even. Their childhood had been spent seeking out men in their lives to look up to, from coaches to teachers to ball players. It was an impossible fantasy, but she would have loved to see their amazed responses to his tales of travel, the very same ones that kept her worrying for him day and night.

Instead, the mother reflected bitterly, she was caught between two men whose relationship to each other simply could not be resolved even on the field of battle. They had found ways to bring out the worst in the other, like air feeding fire in a constant cycle.

And perhaps the worst part? _Her_ role in it. Whether she spoke or kept her silence, she would still be betraying one of them. The identical pain she saw in both of their expressions made it certain.

**174\. Now**

The man did have a way of finding a means to contact her, usually when prolonged assignments were drawing to a close. His voice had a charming impatience to it, as if to say that _soon_ wasn't going to be soon enough.

**175\. Insanity**

If there had been anything from work that he had spoken to her at length about, it would be the men he shared the battlefield with. Though he admitted that most of them did their jobs very well, their personalities and quirks made it obvious that insanity took many different forms.

**176\. Astrology**

One of the many books on strange subjects that she came into possession of, this one had her telling him she was positively certain that they were soulmates. He shrugged beside her, an irreverent smirk, because he had the perfect response to make her laugh, something she often quipped back in answer to the usual _I love you_uttered in whatever language came to his lips first.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know."

**177\. Routine**

Having a somewhat normal schedule these days, after so many years in constant transit, gave him an odd sense of peace. Which wasn't to say the odd thing like fighting ancient wizards didn't pop up now and then, of course. But it still felt nice to be able to take leave with some relative predictability, to put together a nice breakfast for his lady on a weekend morning or dash out to dinner far too late into the night.

**178.****Ride**

The most irritating part of his revealed identity to the Scout _had_ to be the occasional request to bum a ride now, something that absolutely infuriated him when he considered that he would hear it from the boy's mother if he denied. All muddy shoes and fifteen minutes of nonstop talking, the Spy felt a new sympathy toward his lover for having tolerated this for as long as she had.

And then one day Miss Pauling caught the two of them in their little carpool debacle, a small sense of dread filling him when he considered the consequences of the association. This was quickly replaced by horrified embarrassment as he realized she was hiding a laugh behind her clipboard.

**179\. Worthy**

There were times when his greatest hesitation to come clean to their boys was in the simple fact that they might confirm what he already believed to be true, that she deserved much better than him.

**180\. Water**

He wasn't sure if their paternal relationship would be enough to mitigate the rivalry between them. Blood might have been thicker than water, but by this time he wondered if the bad blood between them would win out against any petty sentimentality.


	10. 181-200

**181\. Unready**

She kept dropping the hint to him, picking at his heart strings in a way that only she knew how to do. His eyebrows came together as she mentioned once again that their son was not speaking to her because of their recent rendezvous. Seeing her hurt by the situation might be the only thing that could spur him into action, and she knew it.

**182\. Linguist**

In the decades he had spent abroad, the Spy had picked up a proficient understanding of at least ten different languages. Some he favored over others, for a variety of reasons, but he always fell back into his own in moments of passion. Even if she did tease him for it, he knew quite well that she loved the silken sound of his adoration.

**183\. Fluster**

Her hand seized his—possessive, a note of urgency lurking in her touch. He had to calm the wave of desire that rose up in him as she guided it gingerly to her waist, fully aware that her actions had gotten the intended result.

**184\. Thwart**

Blue eyes flew open at the knock on their door. The sound of her sigh made him cringe, wishful for a few moments of peace to make her feel spectacular. His lips at her collarbone slowly withdrew as the words formed in his throat, an insistent command to please let him take care of it this time—

But his lover shook her head, the sadness in her expression cutting deep. He couldn't, not anymore, and they both understood it too well.

**185\. Heal**

"Keep still. Y'don't want me to have to do this twice, honey."

She had an incredible talent for tactfully making light of his injuries, which she invariably insisted on treating when she discovered them. Most of the time they were haphazardly dressed when he was on the run, sometimes even showing signs of infection when she saw them.

Muscles tensed as she carefully wrapped the wound, this time a bullet hole at his shoulder. The Frenchman wondered if she would reprimand him for his carelessness, her concern materializing as frustration with him. What he hadn't expected was to feel her arms gently wrap around him from behind, her sigh speaking volumes on the matter.

**186\. ****World**

No matter how much he gave to her—safety, money, the heart out of his chest—

It never felt like quite enough.

**187\. Solo**

If only they had continued their criminal partnership as his career grew more and more exciting. As much as he had insisted that he performed best on his own, she had a certain way of anticipating his thoughts that made them an unmatched team.

**188\. Squirmy**

He did not consider himself squeamish by any means—not after having been shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, and even poisoned once. And had his lover not specifically requested that he wait elsewhere when she gave birth to their first son, he had even been willing to be present for that as well.

Reluctantly attending their newborn's first doctor's appointment, however, he nearly passed out when the physical exam sparked the conversation of circumcision.

"Oh, don't be such a baby about it," his wife chuckled, his horrified expression becoming apparent once the doctor had left the room. "I mean, youwere, right?"

Part of him wanted to challenge her on her lack of sympathy for this clearly male plight. She was correct, of course. It had been the medical answer to a small physical irregularity, blessedly beyond his range of memory—where he intended for such unpleasant thoughts to remain indefinitely.

He glared at his wife, slowly reaching into his coat for a cigarette. "I'll be waiting in the car."

**189\. Mine**

Her embrace gripped him tightly, drawing him in as close to her as she could. The meaning was not lost on him, and he only smiled as his touch found the small of her back. Never had he been such a willing captive.

**190\. Resemblance**

"Your eyes, not mine," his beloved reminded him blithely, stirring her coffee with a smile.

The Spy rolled his eyes, none too warm toward that particular relationship at the moment. "Indeed."

**191\. Caffeine**

Observing the young man as he downed another bottle of that questionable soda, he understood quite well why his mother had allowed the boy soda as a child. The results were simply terrifying.

**192\. ****Behind**

There was no denying that he had gained a reputation for underhanded tactics, particularly the manner of attack he frequently chose. The sight of a vulnerable back usually came as a welcome opening for him.

Outside of battle, however, vulnerability was something to protect. Her contented hum as his lips grazed between her shoulder blades—he smiled, fingertips trailing along the soft line of her spine. The universe had a certain way of righting itself in this regard.

**193\. Wrong**

With every family photo taken, the woman felt a sense of wrongness that grew deeper each time. Incomplete, she thought solemnly, the missing presence so obvious to her.

**194\. Undone**

His smug front fell rapidly as she moved her lips over his neck, intoxicated words in his own language spilling forth as she eased the coat from his shoulders. The expression he wore betrayed the truth behind the words she could not decipher, bringing a coy smile to her own face.

Making him fall apart happened to be one of her favorite pastimes.

**195\. Spoke**

The first conversation they had made it very apparent to him that she was not impressed by his arrogant attitude, a fact that actually startled him quite a bit. A part of him wanted to win out over her, to prove that her opinion did not matter to him in the slightest.

Regretfully, he would find that it did mean something to him—a lot, as it would happen, and before long he began to find himself longing for the sound of her voice in every silence.

**196\. Sent**

Occasionally, he did manage to send her small tokens as a sign that he was alive and well. Unmarked letters with no names or locations, a cryptic message without meaning but to her. She carefully examined each one for signs of tampering or compromises. By now she had picked up on many of his precautionary behaviors, an accomplice as well as a lover.

**197\. Morning**

Careful not to wake her, the Spy brushed a lock of hair out of her face before stealing away for a quick shower. With any luck he might make it out of the house before she awoke, charming him into staying a few more minutes for a cup of coffee together.**  
**

**198\. ****Concerned**

He took in her worried expression with a frown, lingering in the doorway for a moment. His flight would be leaving soon. Bracing himself against his own doubts, he coaxed himself into a confident smirk.

"Have some faith in me, Kathryn."

**199\. Ruin  
**

The thought of losing her kept him up at night sometimes, the fear gripping and powerful. She was his everything, the owner of his heart in every sense. Without her, he knew, he would surely drown in sorrow.

And so he would protect her at any cost.

**200\. Rumor**

Talk of his relationship with the ravishing woman in blue persisted for weeks after the fact, his more nosy teammates prying here and there for a hint of what had become of the whole affair. If only they would just go back to gossiping about what the Pyro was for a while.

* * *

**A/N**: Final set written to date so I am considering this complete, indefinitely. It was completed quite a bit ago but never quite made it to being posted here, however, since I still receive alerts/faves on this stuff from time to time I figure I'll post it here in addition to being on AO3. Thanks again.


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